


And I Will Hold on to You

by katertots



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertots/pseuds/katertots
Summary: She crooks her index finger under his chin, tipping his head up, waiting for him to meet her gaze head on. There’s warmth and love shining back at him that’s like a salve against the ache in his chest. “Don’t you get it by now? I could live a hundred lifetimes and fall in love with you in every single one of them.”He’d meant it by a shimmering poolside in 1941 and he means it still: Lucy Preston saved his life.And he loves her beyond measure.“I do,” he whispers, and lays his lips over hers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! 
> 
> Another writer beat me to the jump today on the general premise of this fic, but I promise to provide a different take. 
> 
> The idea for this fic came about after listening to "New Year's Day" by Taylor Swift. I found the line _please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere_ in particular, heartbreaking, and wanted to explore what would happen if Wyatt came back from a mission and Lucy was in a different timeline. 
> 
> There will be angst in this fic, but a lot of happiness as well, with an ultimate happy ending. I hope you enjoy the ride.

_Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you_  
_Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you_  
_Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you_  
_And I will hold on to you_

 

“Wyatt?” Lucy croaks, eyes closed as she stirs gently against the scratchy white sheets.

The sinking pit in his gut that he might never hear her voice again ebbs away, and it’s like he can truly breathe for the first time in days. For the first time since he frantically carried her limp body from the Lifeboat and put her in the waiting ambulance. Wyatt leans forward in the uncomfortable plastic chair, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, Lucy, I’m right here,” he answers, his throat thick and dry from lack of sleep. 

“You need to stop,” she murmurs.

He strokes his thumb back and forth over her knuckles, brows knitting close together, unsure what she means. “Stop what?” Wyatt asks. He’ll do whatever she wants— _anything at all_ —just as long as she’s okay. It’s the only thing in the world that matters to him.

“Worrying at full volume and staring at me in my sleep.” Her eyes remain shut, but there’s a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. 

Wyatt blows out a relieved breath, and swipes away the errant tear on his cheek with the heel of his hand. It’s just like her to wake up and immediately start bossing him around. “You’re so pretty when you sleep though,” he says. Lucy squeezes his hand three times— _I love you_ —the way she has countless times, in countless centuries. He returns the gesture and feels his heart begin to slowly mend back together.

“Water? My throat’s on fire.”

 _Fire_. His hand shakes as he fills the plastic cup on the tray beside her bed. If he’d been even one minute later, the flames would have engulfed her, and then—Wyatt forces himself to focus on her in the here and now: a concussion, a bandage on her arm concealing a minor second degree burn, and a nasal cannula of oxygen to help her recover from smoke inhalation. All things considered, she’s relatively fine. The doctors assured him she’ll make a full recovery. 

There is no other option for him. 

Reaching down in between the railing, he presses the button to incline the head of Lucy’s bed. “Here you go,” he says quietly, holding the straw up to her lips. She holds the water in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. Wyatt doesn’t miss the grimace on her face as it goes down. “Better?”

Lucy’s dark head nods imperceptibly, and takes another sip before slowly blinking open her eyes. “Thank you.” She takes in her surroundings, sleepy eyes adjusting to the darkened room. “How long have I been out?”

He sits on the edge of her bed and laces their fingers together, needing to anchor himself with her touch. “Two days.” 

The apology swims in her eyes before the words leave her mouth. “I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“No—” Wyatt starts, eyes shuttering as he shakes his head. How can she apologize to him when she’s the one lying in a hospital bed? “Dammit, Lucy. I’m sorry I wasn’t faster. That you—”

“Hey,” she whispers, tightening her grip on his hand. “Don’t do that. I’m alive, Wyatt. You pulled me out of there and saved me. I’m going to be okay. Promise.”

Wyatt leans in and presses his lips tenderly to her forehead. “M’gonna hold you to that.”

… … …

She kicks him out in the morning. 

Wyatt startles awake when the door opens, and he bolts upright, quickly assessing the threat level of the current situation. He relaxes in spades when Jiya walks in carrying a potted cactus. Rufus is just behind her with a “get well soon” balloon. Lucy flashes a bright, toothy smile, waving them into the room. There’s color back in her cheeks, and that eases more of the worry he’s been holding on to. 

“Aw, you guys! Thank you,” Lucy says, voice still rough, but chipper. 

“Hey,” Wyatt greets, unfolding himself from the lumpy chair in the corner and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He waits until Lucy’s finished hugging her new visitors, then pushes to his feet and sits down on the edge of her bed. Before he can even open his mouth to ask how she’s feeling today, Lucy crinkles her nose. 

“Okay, Wyatt—full offense—you look awful and smell even worse.” She trails her fingertip affectionately along the curve of his jaw. “Go home. Sleep. Take a shower. And when you come back, bring me In-N-Out. Please?” He starts to argue, but Lucy closes the gap between them and drops a quick kiss on his lips. “Thank you,” she says against his mouth. “I love you.” 

Well. That’s that. 

“Do you know who you kind of remind me of right now?” Rufus asks. Wyatt is 100% sure he’s going to hate whatever comes out of his mouth next. “That Peanuts character who’s always filthy.”

“Pigpen,” Lucy supplies, trying, and failing, to shield her smile behind her hand.

Jiya snaps her fingers, eyes rounding with delight. “Yes! The one with the little squiggly stink lines.”

“Alright, you assholes. You made your point,” Wyatt grumbles. Softening his demeanor, he turns back to Lucy. “Get some rest. I’ll be back later, burger in hand.”

Lucy’s mouth ticks up into a lopsided smile. “My hero.”

With a tilt of his head, Wyatt motions for Rufus to meet him in the hallway. He waits until the door is firmly closed behind them before speaking.

“Don’t leave her alone,” Wyatt says lowly, pointing at the door. 

Rufus nods, understanding. “I won’t. Christopher has uniform and plain clothes officers here, too.”

They’re close. So _fucking close_ to wiping out Rittenhouse for good. But if there’s one thing he’s learned in all the time they’ve been fighting these bastards, it’s that they’re unpredictable, more so when they’re backed into a corner. After the last mission, he’s not taking any chances on Lucy’s safety. 

“Does she know?” Rufus asks. “About her mom?”

Wyatt scrubs a hand over his face, the weight of the last few days sitting heavy on his shoulders. He shakes his head, eyes cast down at the white tiles. “No. She woke up in the middle of the night. It wasn’t the right time to tell her.” 

While it’s no secret to anyone—least of all Lucy—that Carol Preston’s a monster, it’s not going to be an easy pill to swallow once she learns the truth. The truth that Carol left her own daughter for dead in a burning building, then earned a bullet between the eyes from his gun for her efforts. 

“I won’t say a word. Jiya and I’ll keep her company, make sure she rests. Get out of here, man. You’re no good to anybody if you let yourself get too run down.”

Wyatt can’t argue with that and takes his marching orders.

… … ... 

He tells her that night, when she asks about the mission that went FUBAR and put her in the hospital. Then he scoots in beside her and holds her while she cries over the truth, terrified that after all they’ve been through, this could be the thing to drive a permanent wedge between them. 

“Our lives are so fucked up,” Lucy says finally, after the worst of the crying subsides. “Why couldn’t we have met in a bar or something, like normal people?”

Wyatt huffs out a breath that’s more relief than amusement. “Eh, normal is boring,” he says, swiping the tears on her cheeks away with the pad of his thumb. “Besides, d’you really think I could’ve fooled you into loving me if we weren’t in the trenches together?” 

Lucy sighs and pokes him none too gently in the ribs. “You’re not dumb, Wyatt. Don’t piss me off by pretending to be.” 

He averts his eyes, feeling appropriately shamed by her words. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She crooks her index finger under his chin, tipping his head up, waiting for him to meet her gaze head on. There’s warmth and love shining back at him that’s like a salve against the ache in his chest. “Don’t you get it by now? I could live a hundred lifetimes and fall in love with you in every single one of them.” 

He’d meant it by a shimmering poolside in 1941 and he means it still: Lucy Preston saved his life. 

And he loves her beyond measure.

“I do,” he whispers, and lays his lips over hers. 

… … …

“Can you bring me the shampoo please?” Lucy calls from the shower.

They’re holed up in a safehouse Agent Christopher put them up in after Lucy was discharged from the hospital. It’s surprisingly nice—Wyatt figures the soft spot she has for Lucy played a role in choosing their accommodations. For the record, he’s not complaining in the least. Anything beats the bunker they used to share, and he’s relieved that Lucy has a comfortable place to recuperate. 

He locates the bag of toiletries they stopped for on the way and walks into the steamy bathroom. Lucy’s softly humming a tune he doesn’t recognize. It all feels so domestic, so normal that if he tries hard enough, he can almost forget all the bad shit from the last 72 hours. _Almost._

Wyatt pulls the bottles from the bag and passes them through the gap in the shower curtain. “Here, babe. You okay?”

There’s a pause before she answers, “Um, actually I think I need some help.”

A wave of fresh worry for her washes over him, so he pulls back the shower curtain, eyes looking her over for any sign of injury. “What’s wrong? What do you need?” he asks.

She startles, dropping the shampoo bottle to the floor. Sue him, but the way her tits bounce with the movement does not go unnoticed. “Jesus,” she bites out, narrowing her eyes at him before laughing it off, the sound bouncing off the shower tiles. She bends down to pick up the bottle. “You scared me! Nothing’s wrong, it’s just difficult for me to wash my hair. Care to help me out with that?” Lucy blinks the water out of her eyes and flashes an innocent smile that experience has taught him is anything but.

Wyatt smirks, trying his level best to keep his eyes from wandering south. “You just got out of the hospital.” Apparently he’s going full on Captain Obvious, but damn it all, it’s hard to think with his brain when there’s wet and naked Lucy in front of him inviting him to shower with her. 

“I _know_. Which is why I need help in here,” Lucy insists, eyes full of mirth. “The water’s fine and I won’t bite.” 

“This feels like a trap,” he teases, falling in step with her banter. He tugs the shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. 

She rolls her eyes, flicking water in his direction. “Poor Wyatt. The ultimate hardship: having to shower with your girlfriend.” 

_In for a penny, in for a pound,_ he thinks. Wyatt ditches the rest of his clothes and steps into the shower, drawing the curtain closed behind him. 

Victorious is the only word to possibly describe the smile that curls over Lucy’s face as she hands over the bottle of shampoo, tipping her head back under the spray to wet her hair. Wyatt clears his throat and lets the urge to fully look at her take over, eyes raking slowly over her lithe body. He’s one lucky son of a bitch to have this gorgeous woman love him. “I’m—I’m just in here to wash your hair,” he says. It sounds every bit as pathetic and dumb out loud as it did in his head. 

Lucy opens her eyes and smirks knowingly. “Uh-huh. Guess you’d better get to it then.” She inches closer, chin tipped up, face expectant. 

Drops of water dot her dark eyelashes, and it occurs to him in that moment that they’ve never done _this_ before. Never showered together. Never had the opportunity for such a luxury, really. Not while living in a bunker with the rest of the team, always getting interrupted. So why the hell he’s standing around being an idiot and overthinking things when it’s finally just the two of them is beyond his comprehension. Opening the shampoo bottle, he squirts what he deems an appropriate amount into the palm of his hand. Lucy giggles. “What, too much?” he asks, aware of the nerves settling in his stomach.

“Yeah, maybe a little. I’m not Rapunzel, you know?” That makes him laugh. Lucy wraps her hands around his waist and the laughter dies in his throat, his heart knocking in his chest. “It’s okay, Wyatt,” she whispers, “I’m okay. I won’t break.” 

Wyatt’s hands slip into her hair, and it’s a bit of clumsy start out of the gate. But he’s never done _this_ with anyone before either. So he takes his time, gently working up a lather, massaging Lucy’s scalp with his fingers. His confidence gains traction when he brushes a spot behind her ear that makes her eyes close and her breath hitch. “Good?”

“Mmm.” She leans into his touch, skimming her own fingertips up and down his back. “Yes.” Then her head falls back and she helps him rinse out the suds. “Thank you,” Lucy says, closing in to wrap her arms around his neck, fitting her lips neatly against his in long, slow kiss. 

He’s the first to pull back, still not trusting that she’s being completely honest about how well she’s feeling. Look, he’s no saint. There’s little in the world he wants more right now than to hitch those long legs around his waist and press her back against the shower wall. But he doesn’t allow his hands to stray from their spot at her waist. “Lucy—” 

“Hey,” she says, cupping his face in her hands, eyes seeking his. “Will you please quit holding back from me? You’re starting to give me a complex.”

Wyatt sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to—”

“Hurt me, I know,” Lucy finishes, carding her fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck. “I feel fine. Promise.”

He asks again, has to know before he lets the last rapidly fraying tether on his control snap. “Are you sure?”

Lucy nods. “I’m positive. The last few days were terrible, so can we please forget about that for a little while and take advantage of this blissful privacy we have?” They trade smiles. “Let’s make each other feel good, Wyatt.” 

Wyatt kisses her, and there’s no more argument from that point forward.

… … … 

“For the record, I’m seriously pissed.” Lucy presses her lips together and folds her arms over her chest in a huff.

Wyatt glances over at her from the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel and fighting the urge to roll his eyes. She’s only told him as much fifteen times. And he gets it, he does. But she has a concussion, and less than 48 hours ago was still in the hospital hooked up to an IV and oxygen. “Yeah, I’m aware,” he says evenly. “But everyone agrees that you need more time to heal after the last mission. I’m sorry that you’re benched, but it doesn’t change anything.”

She turns in the passenger’s seat and for all intents and purposes, attempts to glare a hole into the side of his head. “I’ve been risking my life for so long to help take down Rittenhouse, Wyatt. We all have. Now that we’re _this close_ to finishing the whole thing, I don’t get to see it through. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is for me?” Lucy throws up her hands. “It’s like—it’s like working on a 1,000 piece puzzle only to have someone else come along and slot in the last piece.” 

A laugh bursts out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Oh my god! That is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and that’s saying a lot.” He smacks the steering wheel, his laughter echoing throughout the car. Lucy shoves his shoulder and mutters something under her breath. He’s not certain, but it sounded suspiciously like _eat me_. “I did that last night.” Wyatt smirks. “And this morning,” he adds with a wink.

A blush blooms across Lucy’s cheeks. “Smug is not a cute look on you.”

“Liar.” He places his hand on her thigh. “C’mon, Lucy. I don’t wanna fight with you. Not today. You’re pissed off and have every right to be. But you know I’m not getting in the Lifeboat until we’ve cleared the air.”

“I know,” she says quietly, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t want to fight with you either.” She squeezes his hand. Three beats.

“For what it’s worth, I want you to go,” Wyatt says. “I want you to be able to finish this with us. And there’s no one else I trust to have my back more than you. But you have a concussion. I’m not sorry that you’re staying here when you’re still recovering.”

She doesn’t say anything for what feels like an eternity. Finally, he hears her resigned sigh. “You’re right,” she mutters. “I hate it, but you’re right.” 

Wyatt draws their joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of Lucy’s hand as he turns into the parking lot and kills the engine. 

Lucy holds his hand in hers, letting their arms swing between them while they walk towards the building. “When this is all over, you’re taking me on a vacation,” she says, squinting against the sunshine on her face. 

“Deal,” he grins down at her. “Where’m I takin’ you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. How do you feel about Bora Bora or Fiji?”

Of all the places he expected her to say, it was definitely not a tropical paradise. He imagined Lucy Preston’s dream vacation to consist of endless museum visits and historical landmarks, babbling excitedly about all the random facts she knows that didn’t make the placquards. But perhaps after their harrowing adventures in time travel, even Lucy’s had her fill. “Hmm...you and me, a little white sand and turquoise water. I’m in. Bikini?” 

“I mean, if that’s the style of swimsuit you’re most comfortable wearing, Wyatt, I won’t stop you. Live your truth.” 

Wyatt tugs her against his side and playfully wraps her in a headlock, making her laugh. “Wiseass.”

The door opens and Rufus steps out, wearing his impatient face. “Wyatt, we need to go. Now. Hi, Lucy, how are you feeling?”

“Doing much better,” Lucy answers. “Hey, Rufus, wait a second.” Untangling herself, she pats Wyatt’s chest. “I’ll be right back.” 

He can’t hear what they’re talking about, but Lucy has Rufus’ hands clasped in hers and dogged determination in her eyes. Eventually, she throws her arms around him in a fierce hug. Rufus smiles at her, then walks back inside.

“Everything okay?” Wyatt asks, stepping up behind Lucy. 

She nods, blinking back tears when she turns around. “All good. I told Rufus to watch your six.”

“Watch my six?” he asks, lips curving into a grin. “I really am rubbing off on you.” He cups her face, tipping up her chin. “What’s with the tears?”

“Nothing,” she says, as a few spill down her face. “I think I’m just a little uneasy not going with you guys.” She grips the front of his shirt with both hands. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.” 

Wyatt kisses her then, the way he wants. A goodbye that would be inappropriate in front of others. He kisses her until his head swims and they’re both short on breath. He keeps her face cradled in his hands when he pulls away. “I promise. I’ll see you soon.” Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, he whispers, “I love you, Lucy Preston.” He finds his arms full of Lucy then, wrapping him in a hug.

“I love you, too.”

… … …

Jiya’s visions and Lucy’s journal are the keys to putting the team two steps ahead and driving the final nail in the Rittenhouse coffin.

The hired goons du jour are child’s play to deal with. Wyatt and Flynn each picking one off in their pursuit of the last known sleeper agent, Emma, and Nicholas Keynes.

Rufus and Jiya set the trap, and what remains of Rittenhouse walk right into an ambush. 

In the end, the sleeper, Emma, and Nicholas get what’s coming to them. Their blood staining the earth beneath their lifeless bodies outside the Mothership. Rufus rigs it with C4 and once they’re a safe distance away, they blow the fucking thing to smithereens, lighting up the dark like the 4th of July.

Wyatt doesn’t go so far to say that it feels good to end the lives of these psychopaths. That’s a line he’s not willing to cross. He had a job to do and he did it. They all did what was necessary. 

There’s no celebrating when they get back in the Lifeboat. They’re not heartless monsters. 

But he knows that they’ll all sleep better tonight than they have in years. 

… … …

The Lifeboat lands back at the warehouse. Wyatt breathes through the nausea, taking a moment for his world to quit spinning so he doesn’t eat shit on his way down the stairs. He wants to find Lucy first, to show that he delivered on his promise of making it back in one piece, and that they neutralized Rittenhouse once and for all. Then he’ll sit through Agent Christopher’s endless questioning without complaint. 

Climbing out of the Lifeboat, he expects to see Lucy front and center right alongside Agent Christopher and Mason. When he doesn’t spot her, his eyes dart around the room to catch a glimpse. There’s still no sign of her, and he worries about how she’s feeling, if the concussion is giving her more problems.

“Welcome back,” Agent Christopher greets. 

Wyatt hurries down the stairs and approaches her. “Where’s Lucy?”

Agent Christopher frowns, her eyebrows knitting together. “Who’s Lucy?” 

To be continued...


	2. CH. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt gets lost in his grief over Lucy's disappearance from this timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving this story a chance. I'm happy so many of you read and left comments. I hope that you continue to enjoy. Things get a little worse before they get better. Stick with me. :)

“Who’s Lucy?” 

Agent Christopher’s words hit like a .45 caliber to the heart. Beads of sweat break across the wrinkles on his forehead as panic claws through his gut.

“Lucy’s not—” he trails off. “Mason!” Wyatt yells, storming over to command central in his desperation for a different answer. _This has to be a sick joke._ He grabs the man by the collar, jerking him to his feet. “Where’s Lucy?” he growls. “And don’t fuck with me right now, I swear to God! Just—just tell me where she is. Please,” his voice breaks. 

Connor’s eyes widen, regarding him much like a wild animal about to attack. Wyatt clings to the last shred of hope left inside as he awaits the answer he dreads most. “Wyatt,” Mason begins carefully, holding his hands up in peaceful surrender. Wyatt shakes his head, as though if he disagrees hard enough the horrible truth won’t come out of Mason’s mouth. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Lucy who?”

The truth is out, the worst one imaginable. Wyatt’s blood runs cold as the words _Lucy’s gone_ play over and over again in his head.

There’s a commotion somewhere behind him—Rufus and Jiya—their own cries of shock over Lucy’s disappearance ringing through the void. But none of it fully registers. Spots swim in his vision, blood roaring like a storm in his ears. Wyatt falls to his knees and struggles to breathe for the ache in his chest.

_Lucy’s gone._

… … …

Agent Christopher refuses to postpone the mission debrief. Apparently having the love of his life erased from their timeline and his heart ripped out isn’t reason enough to push it. Wyatt can barely string a sentence together that doesn’t include the words _fuck_ and _you_ during the whole thing, so it’s about as useful as tits on a bull. 

It’s not until Flynn shoots off his goddamn mouth with his take on who’s to blame for Lucy being gone that Wyatt snaps. He leaps out of his chair, knocking it to the ground in his haste, and lands two hits to Flynn’s jaw before three agents forcibly pry him off the guy. Wyatt shoves them away and puts his fist through the meeting room window before storming out of the room. 

Now he’s cooling out in the med bay, pulling shards of glass from the split and bloodied knuckles of his right hand. It should hurt, he thinks, digging his tweezers into the broken skin. But he’s numb to everything except the agony Lucy’s disappearance left behind. 

A perfunctory knock sounds on the door a second before Rufus cautiously pokes his head inside. “Can I come in?” Wyatt lets out a non-committal grunt and drops another piece of glass in the metal tray. Rufus takes that as an invite. “You really should let the doctor do that,” he suggests, shifting in the doorway, stuffing his hands awkwardly into his pockets. His suggestion goes largely ignored, and Wyatt continues pulling glass out of his skin, piece by piece. “How—” Rufus starts, then clears his throat. “How are you doing?” 

Wyatt halts the makeshift surgery and lifts his head, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you serious?” he asks tightly. “How the hell do you think I am?”

Rufus scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, that was—stupid,” he finishes weakly. “I miss her, too.” 

That sentence alone pushes Wyatt into a rage. He flips the medical tray over, sends it crashing to the floor, tools and glass scattering across the tile. “Don’t!” he grits through his teeth, getting into Rufus’s face, jabbing a finger into his chest. “It’s not the fucking same and you know it!” Grief squeezes his throat like a vise and once again it’s hard to breathe. “What am I gonna do, Rufus?” His voice cracks. “What do I do without her?” The dam breaks finally, the tears he’d been holding back since he found out the truth streaming freely down his face.

Rufus wraps his arms around Wyatt while he sobs.

… … …

Wyatt spends the next two days holed up in a motel drowning in whiskey-soaked misery. The nightmare of losing Lucy from his life is a constant, haunting presence. If the bad dreams he has once he’s drank enough to pass out aren’t tormenting him, then it’s the flood of happy memories while he’s conscious that threaten to choke the life from his body.

There’s a box of his personal effects on the wobbly table in the corner that he keeps eyeing with disdain knowing nothing inside will contain any trace of Lucy. He wants nothing to do with any part of this hellish timeline. By some small mercy his wallet and cell phone made the last trip with him, so he has one printed picture of the two of them tucked away, and a hundred or more saved on his phone. He looks at them, reliving each memory with her until his eyes burn and his heart shatters a little further, then starts all over again from the beginning. The cycle lasts until his phone dies. 

Polishing off another bottle of Jack, he casts wary eyes to the box again as another name flits into his head. _Jessica_. How many times is he going to have to relive the pain of that particular wound before it stays in the past where it belongs? Guilt churns in his gut for being so damn selfish and thinking such awful thoughts about the woman he was once married to. She doesn’t deserve that. But he’s not emotionally prepared to deal with it all over again on top of losing Lucy, too. 

After tossing the empty bottle near the direction of the trash can, he stumbles across the room and haphazardly knocks the lid off the box. His personnel file sits on top. Wyatt regards it like a ticking bomb, afraid of the realities concealed inside from this timeline just waiting to explode in his face. He pulls it from the box and reads. From what he can tell, nothing else has changed in his life. Jessica reappeared in 2018 and now they’re divorced. The fact that he’s relieved probably makes him sound like a total asshole, but he’s been called worse. Free from any additional bombshells in this timeline, he resumes his grieving, reaching for a fresh bottle to help dull the pain.

He’s interrupted by an insistent knock on the door. What the hell good are DO NOT DISTURB signs for anyway if all people are going to do is ignore them? “Go away!” he hollers. More knocking ensues, growing more relentless by the second. Wyatt pushes to his feet, blood boiling, and jerks open the door. “What the fuck do you want?” Jiya and Rufus in the doorway, and his bark loses most of its bite. “Oh. It’s you guys.”

“I’ve been calling you all day,” Rufus scolds, worry lines etched across his forehead. 

Wyatt shrugs. “Yeah, I watched the phone ring. Didn’t feel like talkin’ to anyone. Still don’t.”

Undeterred by his surliness, Rufus barges into the cramped room with Jiya on his heels. “You look like hell, Wyatt.” 

“Then my outsides match how I feel inside. What do you want?” he snaps, staggering back to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“To make sure you weren’t drinking yourself to death! I’ve already lost one best friend this week, I don’t want to make it two.”

Wyatt opens his mouth to respond, but Jiya gets in the middle of the two, her eyes flicking between them. “We’re worried about you. I also have some news that I wanted to share with you both.”

“News?” Rufus asks. “What news?”

Jiya slides the bag off her shoulder and pulls out a computer, setting up shop on the little table. “I started searching when we got back to see if Lucy exists in this new timeline or if she was really—it’s taken me a little while, but—” she lifts her head, a hint of a smile curving up her mouth, “I found her.”

Wyatt says nothing, too gobsmacked to form words. He sits and stares at Jiya with something akin to hope sparking to life in his chest.

“You—you found Lucy?” Rufus asks, face scrunched in confusion. “Where?”

Jiya flips the computer around to show them the proof. “Texas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to go around. The Timeless fandom has been so welcoming and encouraging, and that's such a great feeling. I'm pretty dang needy when I write, so I shared this around with several people to get their two cents while writing. You're all wonderful. I'd like to give a special shout out to Mandy and Danielle for all the Timeless talk. And to Sheena, who doesn't even go here, but likes me and my writing anyway. ♥ 
> 
> Feedback is great for the soul and I appreciate it so much. I'd love to know what your thoughts are on this.
> 
> Also, if you'd like to flail about Timeless with me, catch me over at my Tumblr dopemixtape.


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